


while they do dream things true

by MFLuder



Series: Kinktober [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come Inflation, Damian will always have had a crush on Dick that's how it goes, Kinktober 2019, M/M, POV Damian Wayne, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Romance, Size Kink, Stomach Distention, Symbolism, referenced Damian Wayne/Emiko Queen, referenced Damian Wayne/Rachel Roth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: “You’ve found me,” says Jon.“Always,” Damian breathes, and he thinks he understands.





	while they do dream things true

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober prompt: _distention_. Title taken from Romeo and Juliet because...just because.
> 
> Uhhh, oddly romantic porn, anyone?

Something was wrong. Damian looked around, nothing but darkness even his eyes couldn’t see through, and gold thread in his hands. The thread spooled out behind him and vanished into a black as void as space, and in front of him, nothing else.

Yes, something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here? That’s what he thought. He had no idea how he got here or where here was. He reached down to feel for his Batphone or his sword, but neither were there. Nor was his utility belt. He stood in a Robin uniform several years old with no weapons and no tools. Nothing but string.

Curious, he reached out a hand. The first stretch touched nothing. Nervous to move too far and lose himself further, he adjusted his legs and kept reaching; it wasn’t until he was in a full lunge, almost like he was holding a warrior pose, that he hit something solid. He did the same on the other side, and again, it took a full stretch to reach a wall. Satisfied, Damian stepped his legs in and began to feel the wall.

It was stone, cool to the touch. Nothing significant about it, except…

He felt a piece of cloth and when he moved closer, it was like whatever bubble of light allowed him to see approximately three feet in either direction – just shy of the length he’d needed to reach the wall – moved with him and when he stepped close enough, he saw his grandfather’s seal and realized: he was in Nanda Parbat.

Yet, it was a strange Nanda Parbat as the fortress had never been this dark. Each hall was lit with either electricity or actual torches, depending on the age of the hall. Nor was there any light source to explain why he could see just around him, but no further.

He looked at the spool of thread in his hands and then back to where it stretched behind him. He considered going back, finding the source, but Damian was a man who preferred not to look back, to go back if it didn’t move him forward.

So, he began moving forward into the unknown. He let the thread mark the way he came.

After he came across the thread once, he realized this Nanda Parbat was stranger than previously thought. There was a maze, yes, but it was a maze of caverns, not the fortress itself. He’d been forced to find his way out when he was three, left there for a training exercise. He remembered crying for his mother, not understanding anything. Eventually, he’d walked through the maze, crawling through spaces only a child of his size could have fit, until his tears dried and sniffles stopped, and what seemed like years, but had only been four hours his mother told him years later, he had found himself in the Lazarus Pit cavern that Ra’s used, greeted by Talia who had looked ashen despite her golden brown skin. His grandfather had been standing on a ledge, above them, and tilted his head in recognition to Damian’s mother, and left.

Damian hadn’t cried since that moment until years later, clasped in his father’s arms, he learned it was alright to do so.

This was not the Nanda Parbat he had once called home, though it bore his family’s crest, though it felt like the same stone. He sensed nothing sinister, just cold stone and confusion. A mystery.

He dutifully followed his thread back and felt the wall to find another direction that would not double back on itself.

He walked for what seemed like hours, yet he never grew tired, thirsty or hungry. There was only a sense that he needed to find something. Someone? Whatever it was, was at the end of the maze and if he found it, he could solve the curiosity as to why he was here. 

Perhaps another dimension? A different Nanda Parbat, similar yet different from his own?

None of that explained the thread.

Eventually, as he walked, the sphere of brightness expanded and let him see the stone walls. The further he went, suddenly, in the walls, alcoves appeared, decorated with statues. They were gothic in design, rather than Persian, like something one might find in an old Gotham church. 

He passed by several before one in particular caught his eye; he identified it as a satyr. He looked closer and realized the statue had Dick’s face. He found himself reaching out, touching the cold stone on its sculpted shoulder. It seemed, for a moment, as though Dick’s face moved, turned into his hand, pressed a kiss there; fleeting, unlikely. Something Damian had wanted a few years ago, had even tried to take when he was a precocious fourteen-year-old – not by force, but by sheer persuasiveness. Dick had kissed him on the lips, one perfect, sweet kiss, before pushing him back and telling him he needed to find his own path, to move on. That to look back, back at their partnership, Dick’s mentorship, meant he wasn’t moving forward, and Damian was growing, changing. _Don’t be like me_, he said, eyes haunted, then hunted when Damian’s father had entered the room.

He’d never had the impression Dick wasn’t interested, only that his loyalties laid elsewhere, and he took the freedom Dick offered him and moved on.

He continues walking, thread lingering behind him, comes upon a statue of what appears to be Circe, the witch. This statue definitely moves, something dark and flickering, and underneath it, he sees Raven’s other face, the one that comes out when she uses magic, her eyes black, her jewel blazing. The statue flickers only once, though, and fades into solid stone; as quick a moment as their relationship.

He eventually comes across a statue of a goddess, Artemis. When he looks closer, she too, has someone’s face: Emiko’s. They had been good together, well-suited as both children of assassins and tied deeply to their families. Bruce had even approved, though Green Arrow hadn’t, exceedingly protective of his half-sister in a way more like a father. Not that such disapproval had stopped them. In the end, they both simply felt they didn’t _feel_ enough for each other. Their match was almost too clinical, _too_ perfect.

He continues walking, still without fatigue, and finally, finally, he runs out of gold thread and as he does, the light blossoms into a chamber, as deep as the Lazarus Pit caverns and at the edge of the light, there is Darkseid, looking like Zeus upon his throne.

Damian has never seen Darkseid, for all he knows of him. It has been many years since the alien dictator and the heroes of Earth have battled. His father – and Superman – have shown him images, told him of his strengths, his weaknesses, how he uses other heroes to tear at them, as he once has done to Supergirl. But he’s never battled them, never even been on a space mission yet, so it’s no surprise when the face of Darkseid turns out to be Jon.

“Damian,” the voice booms, the first sound he’s heard this entire time. It’s deep and foreboding, and yet, Damian is unafraid. He isn’t fearless because he was raised to be, but because, as imposing as he appears to be, this is _Jon_ in front of him.

He takes a deeper look and realizes that while Jon is the size of Darkseid, he is in fact dressed more like a Kryptonian; loose robes in a royal blue that reflects the House of El’s colors, a thin crown of unknown metal on tumbled brown waves, soft boots. He moves an arm, resting it on his throne and reveals the ‘S’ shield on his tunic beneath the robes.

He looks every inch the New God Darkseid is, but Damian _knows_ Jon.

“You’ve found me,” says Jon.

“Always,” Damian breathes, and he thinks he understands. All paths, all loves, have borne him to this place, this twisted Nanda Parbat ruled not by the Heir to the Demon, but by a god, half man, half alien – and the only one who complements Damian, truly. The only one he’d give up his destiny for, his throne. Something he wouldn’t have done for his father, for Dick.

But for Jon, for his acute mind that rivals Damian’s if in different ways, for his overbearing kindness, his sense of fairness that is greater than both sense of vengeance (Damian) or justice (his own father’s); for those, Damian would make this man ruler of Earth and be the sword that makes way for him, and then perishes if need be.

“Come,” Jon says, and Damian goes.

As he walks forward, he finds himself stripping himself of his Robin costume; first the cape, then the tunic, then the shoes and pants, and finally the jock, until he is naked and prostrate at the feet of his god.

Jon leans down and picks him up, almost easily. Damian is not small, and yet, compared to this Darkseid-sized Jon Kent, he is like his mother, strong but thin, tiny. His hands, that typically feel in control and able to grasp a sword and enemy, suddenly look half the size of the god’s. When Jon brings him up and to his lap, he must nearly do the splits to fit across his thighs. They’re exactly like he’s used to, simply twice the size.

Jon is at his zenith, larger than Superman, though it should be impossible for the half-alien son to be bigger than the full-alien, and as Damian stares into penetrating grey-blue eyes that seem to hold the light of the moon, he is utterly and inexorably in love and lust with this giant who holds him like he will break.

“Damian,” the god-Jon rumbles again, and he shifts so that he can caress Damian’s face, his hand practically swallowing it, yet still so tender. He tilts his head up and Jon kisses him, his waves falling across Damian’s brow, teasing him with gentle wisps. Somehow, despite the size difference, Jon’s mouth fits perfectly over his. He delights in the pressure of Jon’s thin nose against his, the plushness of full lips that devour him. 

As they kiss, Jon’s hands begin to cover him, large enough that he can cup Damian’s shoulder and make him feel like a child. His entire ass fits in the palm of one hand and as one – large – finger caresses his crack, he whimpers and imagines it inside him, filling him as much as a cock.

One hand covers his chest, rubbing circles around his nipples with only a thumb, while the other continues to pet his ass. The god-Jon parts his thighs, forcing Damian’s legs wider and wider until he’s exposed, only the pressure he exerts with his knees keeping him from either falling or doing the middle splits. Jon reaches down and fondles his cock. It looks small in his palm and Damian wonders how he can enjoy it. Damian can do nothing for this Jon, nothing except strain and stretch and be open.

When Jon reaches up with the hand that had been on his ass and places it into Damian’s mouth, forcing it wide, wider than he’d need for most cocks, so he can get it wet, Damian knows what Jon wants from him: subjugation.

He needs a hole and a hole Damian will be.

He sucks the finger hard, blinking back tears when Jon, ever so gently, shoves his finger in more, pushing back until he reaches tonsils and Damian has to engage Bat tricks to keep from gagging. Jon coos at him, calls him good and beautiful, and Damian is none of those things, but Jon is, and he accepts the praise and moans around the finger, even as he arches his back, stretches his thighs still further, thrusts his tiny cock into Jon’s absurd hand.

Jon returns to kissing him once he removes his finger, again, his seemingly huge mouth somehow slotting perfectly with Damian – until it doesn’t and Jon is cutting off his breath, covering his nose somehow with his lips at the same time his fingers pushes right up against his hole in between his cheeks, getting it wet with the copious amount of spit Damian left on it. Then, as he breaches Damian’s tiny body with his massive finger, Jon breathes out and Damian sucks in a breath through his nose from Jon’s mouth and lets out a cry as he does, his finger so big, so filling. It’s like he’s pushed in two or even three right away, but it’s so wet it hardly resists at least until he tries to push it in further and get the first knuckle past his rim.

Damian lets out another cry as it slips in and he swears, he almost comes then, his body thrusting furiously into the hand that clenches him tight.

“You take it so good,” Jon whispers, but his whisper feels like a drum in his ear, sending fire through his veins and Damian wriggles, tries to get that finger in deeper, tries to get closer to Jon.

“I know what you need, Damian,” Jon continues, “but you’re so tight. So small. I have to open you. My tiny human. My tight hole. You were made for me.”

Damian was. Centuries of conniving, pedigree, genetic experiments, and one night of drugged ecstasy between The Batman and the Heir to the Demon – the outcome was supposed to be an offspring meant to rule the world with a harsh fist, to keep the chaos at bay and kill if need be. But instead, the coupling of two of the most powerful humans Earth had known was all to make the perfect cock sleeve for a half alien Kryptonian god who _would_ rule the earth, but with a gentle hand, as bright as light, as large as planets. Damian was his to mold and shape and fuck as he saw fit. If it was gentle, Damian would love it. If it literally tore him in half, that was his destiny. Whether Jon needed to get out anger or spill his love, Damian was only the receptacle for it.

“Yes, Jon,” he moans, writhing on that finger as it pushes in to the second knuckle, forcing his rim wider, enough that Damian can feel the stretch. He wonders if Jon would fist him, if that would please the Kryptonian, to shove his massive arm in his sleeve’s ass, to make him a puppet for his pleasure. If Damian would even notice by the end or if he’d be nothing more than a drooling mass of come and burned out nerves.

His legs still spread wide across Jon’s hairy thighs allow the room for Jon to move his finger, to pull it out and then up, trailing from ass to perineum, to cock, to gather the copious precome leaking out of Damian’s drooling cock, then to bring it up to his equally drooling mouth and make him eat his own ass, his own come.

Damian accepts it greedily.

“Good, good,” croons Jon, a rumble as loud as a truck on a highway.

Then his hands are encompassing Damian’s small frame, his muscles twitching, his head lolling back, and they move him so that Damian is facing the yawning entrance to the room, now coated in the blackness that surrounded him before. He sees the gold thread lying on the ground, spool empty and beside the end of the string; all paths have led here.

Then he’s filled with another finger, or maybe the same one, wet and big, pushing back in. It’s easier this time until a second joins it and Damian feels like he’ll burst. Interestingly, it doesn’t hurt; there’s only pleasure and fullness, the sense that he should be splitting in two and yet he’s not. His body accommodates everything Jon gives him.

A third finger, also dripping with spit – this time Jon’s – is added and the noise Damian lets out is one he’s never heard before, almost inhuman.

“Hush, hush little demon,” Jon says, lips kissing his ear, the other hand coming up to cover his mouth. It also covers his throat and with his pinkie, Jon pushes down on Damian’s windpipe until he sees stars, then he lets him go. The three fingers have all slipped in to where they meet palm. He senses Jon’s pinkie and thumb pushing his ass cheeks apart, so the god can look at the mess he’s making of his toy.

Then the fingers are gone, and Damian knows he’s gaping. His hole twitches, yearning to be filled again, to clench down on something and not only air.

He turns his head over his shoulder to stare as Jon lifts his tunic, pulls down his pants, reveals an uncut cock as thick as Damian’s torso. It’s impossible. Physically impossible; not even the head would fit in his hole.

He whimpers.

“You’re so good, Damian. You can take me. You do every time,” the god-like being says, like fucking him with a cock the size of his waist is a common day occurrence. Maybe in this dimension, this Nanda Parbat where Jon rules, he does.

He swallows, throat still pressed against Jon’s hand, aching to be held, to be caressed. Consumed.

Jon trails kisses along his shoulders, down his back. His hands soothe his legs, massages them where they’re stretched so wide, so he doesn’t cramp. Always gentle, regardless of size. The caressing sends thrills of pleasure throughout his body until he’s moaning again, hardly recalling the size of Jon’s cock or wonder how his body will take it.

Jon fondles Damian’s cock at the same time he’s pumping his own and Damian watches as it somehow grows harder, turns purple. He can just see his accompanying balls, sitting full. Jon has a load to let out and its going into Damian.

Jon then lifts him up, perches his hole so that it rubs against his huge cockhead, lets it tease Damian, getting him wet with precome, making Damian feel sloppy and it hasn’t even been inside him yet.

Then he’s being pushed down, and he lets out a wail, feeling the strangest sensation as his body adjusts and somehow, someway, begins to let Jon’s cock in. 

If Damian were able to tell time, to know anything beyond the pleasure of Jon taking what’s his, he might say it takes ten minutes for the entire head to work its way in past his rim. The whole time Jon will lift him a little and then press him back in, slowly getting him there until his ass is stretched so wide, he can’t imagine it will ever close again. He’ll now truly be nothing but a hole for his love, for the man he’d let rule.

When the head is finally in, Jon lets Damian sit, lets gravity continue the pushing for now. Damian’s hands grasp at Jon’s and his breath is fast-paced and panting, his heart seemingly about to rip out of his chest.

After a while, Damian begins to move himself, wanting more, more, always more.

“Look at you, my little demon. You want more. It’s never enough, is it?”

Damian shakes his head. Of everyone, _anyone_ he’s ever crushed on, dated, wanted, been told he _should_ want, Jon is the one he’s come back to. Childhood frenemies to adult lovers. The one who balances him, who is his correlative: light and dark, truth and lies, order and chaos.

It is never enough. He wants to be subsumed within Jon, to never leave, to always be in and with him.

Jon makes shushing noises and moves his massive hands to cradle Damian’s small hips. He begins to move Damian’s body and down like he weighs no more than a child’s _damiya_. Somehow, his body opens further, sucking Jon in, taking his big cock in until he can feel it practically in his lower intestine; it’s in so far, and Jon keeps going further until Damian has taken the whole thing, until he thinks he’s honestly choking on it, that it’s going to push through his throat and out his mouth.

He looks down and sees his stomach stretched out. It should be impossible, bodies don’t work this way, but maybe he truly _was_ made for Jon’s massive cock, to do nothing but ride it, his insides empty, stomach not for eating but only for accepting the god’s come.

Jon lifts him up and Damian moans, practically incoherent as he watches his stomach slowly collapse as he’s moved off the cock in part. He can see his usually flat gut bulging with the mushroom head. Jon keeps going, keeps pulling out, both his hands around Damian’s waist as he pulls him off as though it’s no more difficult than pulling a stubborn weed.

He slips out and precome gushes out of Damian’s hole, as much as if any other man had come inside him. He knows he’s going to have a full belly, that’ll be just as big after his cock is gone as it is when Jon’s inside him.

“Jon!” he gasps and if he was gaping before, he’s shocked he’s not crumbling apart, from the inside out. He can feel the fabric of the Kryptonian pants touching his rim, can feel where Jon’s cock is ready and wanting to slide back in. Instead he slides a finger in and Damian knows it’s there, but it doesn’t even touch his insides until Jon presses it against him, running it around his hole, pushing up and feeling the loose muscle, up and inside further still. It’s a weird feeling, like someone is pushing down on him, but from the inside.

The finger presses down and finds his prostate and Damian sees an entire firework show in front of his eyes, yelling as pleasure so good it’s painful runs through him. Still, he doesn’t come, his cock aching to burst but unable until he’s allowed.

His head is back on Jon’s shoulder, and he can barely see the small smile the god spares for him, telling him he’s pleased with his human cock sleeve. His hand caresses down Damian’s front, covering him, taunting him, running up and down his swollen sex.

Then he’s pushing back in and Damian is full to the brim, cock pressing his stomach out once more. The process gets smoother and soon Jon is thrusting wildly and it’s all Damian can do to hold on. His eyes want to close but he’s enthralled by the distention of his body. His seemingly small hands clasp onto Jon’s, as if he could help Jon bounce him. Every bulge receives a moan and every pulling back finds him whimpering because he feels empty, then.

Soon Jon is coming, still pistoning his hips, his robes draping across Damian like soft blankets as he comes for ages, his hot seed filling Damian so full he watches as his stomach grows bigger as it tries to make room for liquid as well as cock. He feels hot and wet and its leaking out around Jon even as he fucks it back in.

Damian can feel it in his throat, taste it on his tongue.

“I want you to come, my demon, my Damian. Take me in so far, we’ll never separate. Accept my cock so that my come is what spills out of you when you find release, that my pleasure is yours and yours is mine.”

“Jon!” he cries out and his body is on the edge, about to come, and he knows it will be not only his come but Jon’s too, absorbed, filtered into his system until they are one and they come together.

“Damian.”

_Jon, Jon, Jon…_

~~~

He comes to, instantly wide awake, though not with a start so much as his eyes open and he’s present. Beside him he can sense Jon’s warmth, feel as he shifts so that his forearm is thrown over Damian’s waist. It’s dangerously close to the large wet spot he can feel in his boxer briefs; he didn’t actually come, but he’s clearly been leaking for most of the dream. His nerves are alight, lust cascading throughout his body, desperate for Jon’s touch, for his own.

It was Jon saying his name that woke him.

“Dami, you okay?” Jon asks, a soft rumble in his deep voice.

“A dream.”

His dream speaks not only of an apparent size kink he didn’t know he had, but also of words, feelings, he’s not sure he’ll ever say to Jon. It’s enough to know he _does_ feel them; from that, he can do his best to show them to Jon.

Damian hears Jon take a deep breath, hand tightening on his waist. “You smell aroused.”

“I am,” he says.

There a moment of silence where Damian stares up at the ceiling and Jon stares at his profile in the dark.

“You wanna fuck?” Jon eventually asks, huffing a piece of his bangs out of his eyes.

“God, yes,” Damian says, almost before the words are out of his boyfriend’s mouth.

Jon smiles, those grey-blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulls Damian’s body into his own – the size difference is only of one or two inches and they actually run in Damian’s favor – and Damian knows he _will_ one day give up his throne for this man, this god.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, its a cop-out, but I could not think of a way to use this kink in a "logical" or plot-based way. Not without 20,000 words of magic exposition, anyway. So, dream.
> 
> (I have several headcanons that go along with this fic that didn't fit into the writing, so if you're curious about something, feel free to ask and I might have an answer.)
> 
> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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